Set the warriors to sea in a ship stacked with shields, layers of swords, mountains of gold. Lay them out with their wife. With their child. Lay them out with their livestock, with the whole farm. The rain is not coming here. Not today.Read More
Student, do the simple purification.
You know, that the seed is inside the horse-chestnut tree;
and inside the seed there are the blossoms of the tree and the chestnuts and the shade.
Hokusai says Look carefully.
He says pay attention, notice.Read More
There is joy
in the hair I brush each morning,
in the Cannon towel, newly washed,
that I rub my body with each morning,
in the chapel of eggs I cook
There are moments
in moist love
You see, I want a lot.
Maybe I want it all:
the darkness of each endless fall,
the shimmering light of each assent.
Time wants to show you a different country. It's the one
that your life conceals, the one waiting outside
when curtains are drawn, the one Grandmother hinted at
in her crochet design, the one almost found
over at the edge of the music, after the sermon.
I will not weep on this cold stone floorRead More
Everything passes on and everything remains,
But our lot is to pass on,
To go on making paths,
Paths across the sea.
One day you will come to know something that’s always been true.Read More
I know the voice of depression
Still calls to you.
I know those habits that can ruin your life
Still send their invitations.
Clear as the endless ecstasy of stars
That mount for ever on an intense air;
Or running pools, of water cold and rare,
In chiselled gorges deep amid the scaurs,
So still, the bright dawn were their best device,
Yet like a thought that has no end they flow;
Or Venus, when her white unearthly glow
Sharpens like awe on skies as green as ice:
How does it know when to shed skin?
How to let go of a part of itself not dead
or damaged simply departing to make room for more of it.Read More
I have desired to go
Where springs not fail,
To fields where flies no sharp and sided hail,
And a few lilies blow.
The wind, one brilliant day, called
to my soul with an odor of jasmine.
Turn sideways into the light as they say
the old ones did and disappear
into the originality of it all.
My melodious, gentle breeze blowing from southward in my Summer birchwood is she; my ocean storm, with downpour sending in headlong spate each burn for me;Read More
I will have become like
the madman running
to see the moon
in the window,
Wayfarer, the only way
is your footsteps, there is no other.
A journey makes us vulnerable, takes us from our more
secure environments and commits us to the unknown.Read More